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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158656">Hope Helps No One</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_ruined_me123/pseuds/Fandoms_ruined_me123'>Fandoms_ruined_me123</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Parent Jack Drake, Batkids Age Reversal, Hurt No Comfort, Injury, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Robin, Tim Drake-centric, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:43:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158656</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_ruined_me123/pseuds/Fandoms_ruined_me123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can tear down men and bring even the strongest to their knees. It's so much harder to hope than to give up, to scum to your inevitable fate. But Tim wouldn't, he had to keep fighting. Bruce was coming for him and he knew it! But as the bomb ticked down he felt his confidence wane. He couldn't help but think of all those he loved and who he'd be leaving behind. But even then Tim knew he wasn't going to die. Bruce was going to get there in time and save him, wasn't he? </p>
<p>Whumptober 2020 Prompt 31: Left for dead</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bart Allen &amp; Tim Drake &amp; Kon-El | Conner Kent &amp; Cassie Sandsmark, Tim Drake &amp; Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake &amp; Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hope Helps No One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first attempt at a full hurt no comfort fic and ouch, that kinda hurted. I really love reverse robin au's and as I was writing this I accidentally came up with an entire au and story plot where the Outlaws and Young Justice and Young Justice are the Outlaws. So it would focus on Tim, Conner, Bart, and Cassie being the black sheep of the hero community. If I did it though I would most likely run it alongside an overall Batfamily oriented one. Maybe have it start with Damian and run all the way to Dick? I'd have to shuffle some of their stories around but I've already done it in my mine. Let me know in the comments if you'd be interested in reading that! If I wrote it, it would be after October because I have so much to write but I am tempted to do it</p>
<p>And as always thank you to my amazing beta Elise, and why no she's no from Saturn but she is purple</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are some things that people say you never forget. When they say that they are always referring to childbirth or your college graduation, but something they never think of is death. Out of all the things that stick with them, death is the one they can remember the most vivid. Of course, for some of them, they don’t have a chance to forget it. They spend their last moments in death, so it would seem like they couldn’t have the capability to forget it, but he remembered. He remembered everything. The worst thing about death isn’t the pain or the final blow, but the moments leading up to it. For some lucky few they don’t even have time to think about what’s happening before they’re gone. But for most they see it creeping forward. They stand paralyzed as death crouches down like an animal rearing to attack. They watched as it circled them, as it got closer and closer before it would finally strike.</p>
<p>The worst thing about death is the hope. It’s easier to die with no hope at all, however that rarely happens. Hope causes people to do things they never would have thought of doing in the first place. It is the thing that keeps them waiting, keeps them hoping for a savior to burst through the ceiling and save them from a wretched demise. It is something that they can hold onto almost as if it was a tangible thing. They clutch onto it tightly as death crouches down. It’s the only thing that keeps them going. But when hope leaves they have nothing less. Hope keeps them going up until the very end, when they realize it had all been for nothing. In the end, it is more peaceful to go, having never hoped at all. When they don’t hope for someone to save them it is easier to accept fate. There are moments of horror but for the most part, they can embrace death as an old friend, not as an enemy. The worst part about dying is hope because when they lose hope, everything crashes down around them. They don’t have enough time to fully accept what will happen to them, and so when hope gives out they fall. Death sneaks up behind them and digs its fangs into their heart and they give up. However, by then it is too late for them to give up completely. If they had given up earlier they could have saved themself the pain and agony and could have gone easily. Instead, they are forced to watch in horror as everything they had held onto crumbles around them, and their life ticks down to its final moments. </p>
<p>	There are some things that people say you never forget. They aren’t referring to death, but Tim always knew that it was something he’d never forget the moment he heard the news that his mom had died. Or when he heard that Conner and Bart had gone missing, presumed to be dead. Death had already impacted so much of his life that he knew he would never forget those he had lost. He just wasn’t expecting to lose his own life.  Every part of him held onto the hope that Bruce would come for him. The hope that Bruce would have noticed he was gone and followed him all the way there. Security had tightened since his parents had been kidnapped and it had only gotten tighter when his mom was sent home in a body bag. Tim was so sure that he would come, there seemed to be no other option. There is always another option no matter how much people don’t want to face it, and that is death. He felt the blood trickling down his face as the cold cement floor pressed up against him as he lay helpless. His eyes were transfixed on the timer ticking down in front of him. The amount of time Bruce had to come and save him. He was going to save him, he had to. </p>
<p>	Tim was determined that he wouldn’t lose hope. He knew Bruce was coming and that he would save him. He knew that he would see the sun again, that he would feel the wind rushing in his hair on patrol. He knew that he would see Damian again. No matter how many times the older boy pushed him away, Tim still admired him. Damian was his hero, he was the reason that he had even figured out their identity. Tim was disappointed at first, after all, they tell you not to meet your idols. But still, he kept trying. He kept trying to get Damian to notice him. He tried in the same way that he did to his parents when they were gone. It only got worse when Bruce discovered that he lived at home alone most of the time. But just like with his parents, no matter what he did it never worked. Still, Tim was sure that if he tried harder he could make him proud of him. If he worked harder on patrol or spent more hours on a case. Then Damian would notice him and all the work he put in instead of someone who took his place. He was determined to work harder, once Bruce came to rescue him of course. </p>
<p>	“Dad,” His voice was rough and hoarse from the screaming. Had he screamed? He thought he had. He couldn’t feel anything over the pain as the crowbar had made contact with his body over and over. And he couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears and the laughter. His dad looked up and Tim could tell he had already given up. His eyes held no light, all of the determined fire Tim had always seen before had been extinguished. “Dad you have to hold on. Batman’s coming, Bruce is coming. We’re going to be ok,”</p>
<p>	“There is no one coming, Timothy,” Jack's voice was faint, no emotion lingered in the words as he stared off to a spot next to Tim. His eyes slightly glazed over as he sat, his back up against a wooden crate. </p>
<p>	“Don’t talk like that, Dad! Help is coming!” He watched his dad as a small tear ran through the blood and dust on his cakes onto his cheeks. </p>
<p>	“There is nothing left here for me. At last, I’ll be with Janet again,” Tim froze as a small smile appeared on Jack's face. A look of joy at the thought of seeing his wife again. A look of joy at the thought of leaving him. </p>
<p>	“What about me!” Tim whispered. Anger filled up in his chest as his voice raised. “What about me Dad! You’d be ok with leaving me here?”</p>
<p>	Jack didn’t respond and the warehouse became silent again. The slight ticking of the bomb as it counted down echoed in Tim’s ears as tears began to pour down his face. The clock was getting closer and closer to zero and still Bruce wasn’t there. With every passing second, he felt something in his chest crack. Sharp lines snaked across his heart until finally it shattered completely. Tears poured down his face freely. The pain in his head seemed to become all he could feel. The pain wasn’t just in his head, Tim wasn’t sure if there was any part of him that didn’t feel as if it were on fire. He had given up on first aid as he had nothing to use and it hurt far too much to move. He looked over to the bomb as the timer continued to count down before he looked over to his dad. His eyes were shut as he leaned his head back. His face was almost peaceful as he waited for death to take him. A surge of energy pounded through Tim as he began to move. He knew walking was out of the question, he was too injured to stand and he knew he couldn’t risk falling onto the cement floor. Determination was clear on his arm as he began to drag himself across the floor. His eyes fixed on the door as he moved inch by inch towards it. </p>
<p>	He pictured Alfred cooking in the kitchen. He had always let Tim sit at the counter and tell him about his day when he got home from school. All of the nannies Tim used to have never let him in the kitchen. They all claimed he would be in the way but Alfred never seemed to mind. He even encouraged Tim to come sit. He would listen to Tim talk as he prepared dinner. Whether it was a case he had been working on, or a paper he was writing for school, Alfred always listened. He would nod along and interject to ask questions when he had them. At first, Tim thought it was to be patronizing but over time he realized that the older man really did care. On the days where everything seemed too much, Tim would go straight into his room. But no matter how many times he told Alfred to go away he insisted on bringing Tim downstairs. On those days Alfred wouldn’t work on cooking then. He would make Tim something to drink and they would sit at the counter. Sometimes Tim would tell him what was on his mind or Alfred would tell him a story. But some days they just sat in silence. Tim never felt like he had to prove something to him in those moments. He could honestly tell him what was on his mind, and on the days where he didn’t want to talk Alfred never pressured him into doing so.</p>
<p>	He pictured Stephanie. How she always seemed to be there for him when he needed it. She always seemed to be able to tell when he was having a hard day. She would carry on a one-sided conversation on patrol. Telling him about anything and everything, she always seemed to get that Tim wouldn’t respond on those days but she never seemed like she expected him to. He pictured Conner and Bart. Everyone said that they had died on a mission but Tim knew better. There was something off about it, something out of place but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Everyone told him he was grieving and that they were truly gone but he knew they weren’t. He told everyone he could, desperate for someone to believe him but they either looked away pointedly or gave him a small smile laced with concern. Cassie believed him. She listened to him as he rambled, as he tried so desperately to explain to someone what was wrong and how they couldn’t be gone. He didn’t know if she actually believed him or just was listening to him out of obligation, but she listened. She would help him look into the mission over and over again. They stayed up and told stories about the others. Tears poured down their faces, but they were barely visible in the dim lighting. Together they worked to keep the memory of the other two alive, until they found them again. But no matter how hard they looked, Tim could never find them. There were no bodies, no blood, but remains. There were the remains of kryptonite and devices to suppress metahuman abilities. The official report said that they died and everyone moved on, everyone but Tim. </p>
<p>	He pictured Bruce. Tim wasn’t sure what to make of Bruce in the beginning and he supposed that never truly went away. He listened to Tims ideas and theories in a way that no one had done before. The first time he had done so Tim was almost so shocked he couldn’t speak. He had hesitantly suggested a theory for the case they were working on. Bruce had paused for a second before he pulled up a chair and sat down. He looked over at Tim and asked him to explain the theory a bit further. He had been a bit confused but indulged him nonetheless. When Bruce had found out he was living alone he confused Tim even more. Tim knew he was upset about it, but he couldn’t tell why and the next thing he knew he was living at the manor. It was a dream come true, but he still didn’t know what to make of it. Bruce had helped him with homework when he had questions and taken him on early morning hikes in the nearby woods. He found out about Tim’s passion for photography and even bought him a new camera when his old one broke. Tim was sure that would be the end of it, that he would swipe the credit card and move on with his life like his parents had done before. But Bruce hadn’t. He sat down with him and asked if he could see the pictures. </p>
<p>	He thought of those he loved but he also thought of things he never thought he would. He thought of sunsets. When he would peer out his window as night began to fall to see the sun setting over the horizon. The colors spilled out like an oil painting across the sky. They mixed in perfect harmony just for a moment before fading into darkness. He had always tried to get a picture of them but they never looked as good as they did in person. He thought of the wind that tousled his hair as he soared through the sky and the adrenaline that came along with that. The adrenaline made him feel like he could do anything. Like he finally had something to hold onto in his life, something that wouldn’t slip away or leave him behind. He thought of Alfred’s cooking and the occasional nod of approval from Damian. He thought of photography and animals. He thought of every little thing that he had always taken for granted, that everyone took for granted. But at that moment they seemed like everything. Then he reached the door. He pushed himself with everything he could as he desperately grabbed for the door handle. The cold metal met his hand harshly and began to pull. But it didn’t move. </p>
<p>	Tim sank to the floor and hopelessness seeped in. No matter what he had tried to do, it was worthless. Tears began to pour down his face once more and sobs wracked his body, each one hurt more than the one before. Every part of him ached. His vision was slightly blurred at the edges from the impact of the crowbar and it had only become worse from his trek to the door. He raised a hand to his head gently as he curled up by the door. He cried for everything that he had in the past and everything he might miss in the future. He cried out for those he loved and he sobbed at the thought of never truly getting to say goodbye. The thought of his last words to them being a small note on the counter telling them where he’d gone was almost unbearable to think about. The timer kept ticking down and he knew Bruce didn’t have long. There hadn’t been too much time left when he started to drag himself across the floor and he had no idea how much time was left now. As he looked straight ahead he saw his dad still sitting peacefully, his face showing that he had already given up. Bruce had to be coming. He had to be coming and Tim knew that. There was no other option. He wouldn’t just leave him there! </p>
<p>	Tim squeezed his eyes shut tight. The world around him became so much clearer as the ticking sound rang out. It seemed to be so much louder then. It rattled through his brain and drowned out any thought he might have had. The sound almost seemed slower as he became more aware of every tick. At each one he flinched, ready for it to go off. He opened his mouth slightly as he swallowed the strong taste of copper saliva in his mouth. He opened his mouth to scream for Bruce but all that could come out was a whisper as the bomb stopped ticking. </p>
<p>	“Bruce please!” Tim couldn’t even hear the blast. It resonated through his body as every piece of him burned. As everything faded to black he only had one thought. </p>
<p>	He didn’t come to save me.</p>
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